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Date: Sun, 7 Dec 1997 (Note: Steve Wells is a police officer in Washington state.
The "Jim" in this true story is not jim@baltimorerunning.)
My work day. Picture this...
I'm ducked down behind a *compact* car - figures - with my shotgun at the ready. I'm just waiting for the nut with the gun to either surrender or *not*. He'd shot one guy in the knee on a drive-by and I found his car outside his brother's place. We invited him outside to be fitted with some spanking new wrist jewelry but he declined. I'm just two hours from being off-duty and I'm gettin' the distinct feeling that I'm not gonna get my run in today.
It's been over two knee-cramping hours now and by this time what was once a quiet neighborhood had transformed into a teaming metropolis of curious bystanders, cops with every description and caliber of weapon, K-9, paramedics, fireman, Phone and Power Utility workers, friends and family of the Badguy and, of course, the media. My hands are damn near frozen to the gun stock.
Being the shift supervisor, I'm trying to pay attention to my area of responsibilty at the front door as well as issue orders, field questions and coordinate the relief of my people by incoming SWAT personnel. Bystanders aren't cooperating and I don't have enough people free to *make* them cooperate. I'm starting to envision the lawsuit I'll face after one of the idiots gets shot because I failed to protect them from themselves.
Then it happens...my brain couldn't comprehend the information being relayed to it by my disbelieving eyes. Yes...someone from the crowd comes bursting through the lines...heading toward the house...A RUNNER!
#@^|[( !!!
The runner...I said *runner* not jogger...one that I recognize instantly by his easy, fast-footed style before I even see his face....is ripping off 5:30 miles like nothing and, for just a second, I *have* to admire the sight of him. God, I wish I could run like that! He glides.
He's rounding the corner. What the hell is he doing? Is he blind? There are no less then three police cars parked right at the corner he's rounding with lights flashing madly and a PA blaring orders in spanish for the Badguy to come out with his hands in the air. There are a hundred bystanders, standing like they're at the start of a race, lined up behind the crime scene tape that's stretched across the road. There are three officers with shotgun, pistol and machine gun perched behind those cars and me...right in front of him...with shotgun pointed in his general direction as he begins to swallow the ground between the battle line and the house, having dodged bystanders, cop cars and yellow tape barriers like they were invisible...there in his little focused world.
The low roar has begun as everyone...almost at once...realizes that this runner is...well...going to run his assigned route. Bystanders are yelling now...the first wave passed without notice. My officers begin to scream...he passes them too. I can see his face clearly now. He's in a zone. Full of power and grace. Jeezus he runs beautifully!
I'm it...my turn now. "JIIIIIIIIIIMMMM
NOOOOOOOO! STOOOOOOOP!" I stand and break cover for him. Officers around me raise their guns instinctively to cover the front door for me...a nice feeling to have pals with guns willing to do whatever it takes just to protect you from getting your fool head shot off...cops are brothers...like runners.
The
runner, awakened from his reverie, saw me coming for him - armed for
assault - his eyes got huge and, just for a second, I think he thought I
was going to kill him for pounding me into dust in all of our races. His
body just stopped moving. All at once. Like someone running hard into a
wall. I was concentrating so hard on him I remember reading
"Analog" on the tongue of his worn Nike's - Hmmmmm - didn't know
they made Analog's anymore I thought. Funny what goes through a runner's
mind...the shoes of all things!
Now fully
awake...*hyper-awake*...Jim turned 360 degrees and back to me. Taking in
his predicament in an instant of shocked embarrassment and intense
distress. He just looked at me like, "Shit! What now?". He and I
were both very exposed. Not good. I had a vest and two guns, Jim a t-shirt
and cool watch. He went first, with me quick behind, to the line of my
guardians who...I swear... were so focused on that front door that a house
fly couldn't have gotten outta there alive. Their eyes were *hard* on
target!
After
getting behind friendly lines Jim, pale as a sheet and mouth agape,
stammered, "Man, I'm REALLY sorry! I can't believe I did that! I
thought it was weird but I was almost home...I can't BELIEVE I did
that!"
What could I say...I'd seen that look on his face and knew he had no idea
what was going on around him. Focused on finishing his run. Almost home.
Damn the little distractions!
He was me.
I just shook my head and smiled at him. Very glad he was just scared and
not hurt...for his sake and for mine!
My brother
runner finished his workout with a minor adjustment in his route which
probably added .2 of a mile and *ten years* to his total for the day.
My brother
cops on the line waited with me on that cold street for 5 more hours until
the Badguy took us up on our earlier offer and presented himself hands
high on the porch. The rain had started by then and most of the bystanders
had given up on the prospect of seeing a shoot-out and took their kids and
empty pop cans back home. My hands are just now warming up.
Carpe Viam!
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